


Simmer

by prince_benji



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Post-Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_benji/pseuds/prince_benji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Bond is not in need of medical aid, but he does need something. Q provides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simmer

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the incomparable Beaubete - thank you so much.

There's the hint of gunpowder and soot clinging to Bond's skin, despite the shower, and there's a heaviness, a tiredness in him that Q is still not quite used to. They've been seeing each other for a while now, but it has always been customary for Bond to lick his wounds in private. It's not until tonight that he shows up on Q's doorstep, shot and singed, that Q realises they have entered into something deeper, more serious, and infinitely more satisfying. (Although, in truth, he does find it slightly scary, since one doesn't simply date a double-oh agent; there's nothing simple about workplace relationships when one works for MI6, and there certainly is nothing simple about Bond.)

The mission went tits up at the last possible moment, just before dawn on the day of wrapping it up and just as Q was starting to think that for once the agent would be coming home with nary a scratch on him. A friendly aircraft was already waiting on the tarmac as arranged by Q when Bond’s comlink suddenly came alive and Q was left to try and make sense of the cacophony of noises that immediately flooded Q-Branch: glass breaking, people shouting, gunfire and explosions.

Bond reported somewhat dryly that the hostiles had a bazooka and very bad aim; according to eyewitness accounts they had missed the car entirely and hit one of the grass-roofed shacks that lined the road instead, which had immediately caught fire. Q’s heart had almost stopped when the car that had Bond as a passenger swerved right to avoid another grenade, hard enough to run itself out of the road and rear-end an old truck, resulting in Bond getting thrown against the windscreen and smashing his brow open, knocking him out cold for a good few seconds with Q increasingly frantically calling out his name.

The fact that Bond had managed to shoot the hostiles brought little to no satisfaction; the woman who had been driving his vehicle, a local agent named Marie, had been killed in the crossfire. The death toll from the fire was somewhere in the upper dozens, if not hundreds. July had been mercilessly dry and hot not just in London.

Q knows that it is the collateral that hits Bond the hardest, knows Bond won't sleep easily for weeks, knows the mission is still hailed as a success because Bond came back with the info he had been sent out to retrieve. What else he brought with him is no-one's worry, least of all Mallory’s, who expects double-oh's to deal with their issues in private and in their own time. This is not a new stance by a long shot; it is left-over from the previous M and it's not Bond that begrudges this but Q. Maybe Q begrudges Bond a bit for taking all the cold-bloodedness of the espionage business in stride, but then Bond has been playing far longer than he has and that's not an argument he wants to get into now.

All of this, any of this, Q doesn't say; it's Office talk, and even though he never quite stops being Quartermaster and Bond certainly isn't any less lethal or damaged in his down time, there is a certain silent agreement that this is where it ends, that this is where it is allowed to end and fade to the background, never forgotten, but simply not brought up.

James turns up as a wreck. Worryingly vulnerable, eyes darker than the night and a frankly terrifying, brittle ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He needs no explanation and offers none, because while Q was in his ear all the way through,  he was alone in some things where even Q can't reach him. That doesn't mean he will ever stop trying.

They make it to the bed after a shared shower, which for Q serves as much as an attempt to ascertain that Bond is not more hurt than he lets on as a means to get clean. It's a fine balance;  there are times where Bond has very little patience for gentleness, and any time soon after a mission is quite unfailingly on the top of that list. He satisfies himself that the bruises covering Bond's shoulders and back aren't bad enough or deep enough to suggest deep tissue damage and kisses him as he turns off the shower to distract him of the quasi-medical evaluation.

The kiss turns hungry, and Q does his best to keep up, to match Bond's intensity, but even though he's been on the comms and up as long as Bond has his body is not high on adrenaline as Bond's is, and it's fair to say he gets manhandled a bit. It takes a while to catch on that Bond is venting something, and he is a willing participant in that, but there is something off, and Bond almost keeps shrugging off his hands whenever Q tries to grab him or caress, something subconscious about the way he keeps doing it and Q thinks he doesn't even notice, himself.

He rolls over easily when Bond indicates he wants it so, but soon enough Bond breaks off the kiss with a huff and pulls away. Q almost asks what is going on, but then he takes a look down Bond's body and sees that he is not hard at all. Bond is naked, and his prick dangles between his legs soft and relaxed, and it has been a while since Q has last seen him so when they're in bed.

"Lie down, please," he says, and he gets the feeling that Bond is both angry <i>and</i> embarrassed, but he refuses to let his knowledge show as Bond does as he's bid. Q noses Bond's face along the severe jaw and the stubble and sucks his upper lip into his mouth, trying to inflict some tenderness on this man who has known anything but for such a long time. "Let me. James."

James lies back, his eyes heavy and wary, and Q is in no hurry kissing him, and then later in kissing his way down his body. His weary, tired body, sculpted and scarred, and Q cannot help an appreciative noise as he noses into the nest of hair surrounding James's prick and inhales. He smells clean and of Q's jasmine and rose body wash and still like himself underneath the flowery scent. Q closes his eyes as he noses the wiry curls, breathing in the pheromones, and he's hard, as hard as he's going to get, because it's been weeks and he now has his James in his bed to do what he wants with.

James's prick is relaxed, but Q is not deterred. He rubs his nose and lips down the silky length, marvelling at its softness. This is most unusual, getting to play with James before he's raring to go, and Q takes a moment to smile before he takes James in hand and sucks the tip into his mouth. It is so smooth, so vulnerable, and he works harder than usual to keep his teeth away; not so much a worry because James is not engorged and Q can accommodate the head more easily.

He feels a minute twitch in the cock that he's now taking in deeper. His gaze flicks up, meeting James's thunder-blue eyes and there's something in that shared look that makes Q feel like he's flooded with tenderness; again, this is new.

The lighting is low, and Q draws back, taking in the slightly iridescent skin, the ruddy colour of James's cock—slightly harder now, very slightly, but Q has all the time in the world. He rubs his cheek against the tip, wanting to imprint the scent of James on him, and then slips it back into his mouth in one smooth movement.

James shifts slightly, drawing back his legs a little to bend them at the knees, and Q is bracketed by two muscular thighs; he briefly entertains a new thought— James's thighs closing in around his head and forcing him to keep down— and again a lightning bolt of want spears him from his spine to his balls.

He steals a look up when a fingertip traces his cheek; James's head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his chest is rising and falling a bit more faster than usual. He hasn't reached the point of half-hardness yet, though, and Q again lifts his head.

"If you want I can get my tablet," he suggests, "and put something on."

At this James smirks slightly, not opening his eyes. "Don't you think it's bad form to watch porn while your lover is sucking your cock?"

Q bites his lip, because when stated like that it sounds a bit—but there's something about exciting about it too. "I don't care about bad form, I want you to be comfortable."

Mindful that James could take this as criticism, he goes back to sucking him, leaving the decision up to him, and startles just a little as James's finger returns to his face and he says, "And me watching  porn would make you hot, wouldn’t it?"

Q doesn't answer verbally, but he meets James's eyes again as his mouth slide down the shaft, his lips meeting his fingers in the middle, and smirks around his mouthful as James swears and his prick lengthens in Q's mouth.

"You're good, Q," James murmurs, and again the swell of tenderness threatens to engulf him, and so Q engulfs more of James, wanting to give him everything, wanting him to have everything, to just feel and not think, falling safely.

James is getting harder fraction by fraction, and Q's jaw grows more strained, but he's willing to do this until James reaches climax, even if it takes an hour and some questionable porn, but then James is pulling him up and Q goes along; his own prick fairly stabs James between his legs, behind his balls, and James lets out a filthy swear and licks into Q's mouth.

They end up in a tangle of limbs, Q making uncoordinated but highly pleasurable thrusts between James's thighs—all those muscles mean it's glorious whenever James tightens them—and James's cock lolls and rolls between them, smearing their skin with the wetness that slowly seeps out, and Q is almost oxygen deprived from all the making out. James's mouth is covering his, moving against his in a languid nice pace, and Q is keening because as much as he tries to hold back his orgasm is approaching like a galloping horse, unstoppable and glorious, and he full-body shudders against Bond, pressing with his prick at the sensitive spot behind Bond's bollocks, and Bond almost bites into his lip as he jerks and grunts and comes, too.

The kisses after are lazy, sweet things, and Bond doesn't reject this tenderness, making a futile attempt at grabbing at Q when he gets up, before falling back to the bed and closing his eyes.

He is like a big, content cat, Q thinks, utterly without rancour or malice as he gets up to go to the bathroom to wipe them both down; he is like a lion after a successful feeding or a mating, lying on his back, belly up, thighs splayed, breath evening out. Bond is pliant enough that he rolls over at Q's urging so that Q can wipe his spend from his thighs and arse, and murmurs appreciatively, a bit sleepily, at the feel of the smooth, wet cloth against his skin.

Q knows sex isn't an easy fix for any of Bond's issues, but right now he'll settle for a few hours of sleep; there will be time, tomorrow, to start figuring out the rest. Q exhales evenly and amends the thought – he will make time. And he knows James might never thank him or articulate his need for him out loud but that’s okay. For Q it's simply enough to know that Bond doesn't have to face all his demons – or indeed hostiles – alone.

On impulse, Q leans in and presses an open mouthed kiss to Bond’s hip, lingering long enough to feel that the tension is, for the most part, gone. Q knows him well enough to know that James is never truly at rest, even when his body succumbs to its natural demands, knows the man is far from innocent, far from a nice man—or even a good man, really—but that doesn't change the fact that Q wants him safe and cared for. No, nothing about dating James Bond is easy, but Q has never been interested in easy.

He waits to make sure that James is asleep, that uneasy mind finally at temporary rest, before he whispers a silent promise of 'never alone'.

  
  


finish

  
  
  



End file.
